


*It's a Fanfiction Title. *It seems purposefully vague... *You decide not to worry about it.

by Doitforscience



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitforscience/pseuds/Doitforscience
Summary: In which Gaster finds determination.
Relationships: W. D. Gaster/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 109





	1. Determination

Determination 

_Valley_ _fields of butter yellow flowers, soaked in sunlight._ _Warmth_ _on an upturned face._

_Mountains, distantly gleaming, ever patient and enduring in a young and volatile world._

_A_ _father_ _watches_ _his children_ _play_ _amidst green grasses_ _as_ _golden petals_ _float_ _lazily in the afternoon glow._

_Another face_ _begins to turn_ _to him_ _, and he_ _waits to see t_ _he smile._

Gaster jolts awake, burning and cold at once, unexplained sorrow a weight on his soul. Weak starlight from a night with no moon glitters distantly through the wide windows of his monkish bedroom, the blackout curtains drawn aside and billowing in fragrant nightly breezes. 

He sighs and sits up slowly, removing his boney palm from where it clutched at his chest over his soul, grasping his sweater in a death grip, to begin rubbing exhaustedly at his eye sockets. Wearily he rises, the mattress creaking in protest as if to chastise him about getting more sleep. 

He steps to the window, his feet sweeping the floor as he attempts to shake off the remnants of the dream. 

He’s had this one before, but not in years. It had been reoccurring, and somewhat maddening, when he had first returned to the corporeal world, and rejoined his sons. Every night, it had been the same. He always woke suddenly, frustrated and desperate to recall their face. He had the thought more than once that it could have been a memory, except he could not recall ever seeing such a place. 

He remembered precious little of the accident, and only a scattering of memories from the time before that. An error in the construction of a machine designed to break the barrier had thrown his soul like refuse to an incinerator to burn in the blackest space imaginable, a place between places that he’d begun calling the Void. He snorted at himself for having teased their former king for being unimaginative when naming things. 

The Void had been like death itself, or what he imagined that to be like, at first. Endless nothing. Like something between dreams and waking. Slowly he’d regained some semblance of consciousness, but only enough to recognize that there was nothing, that he was nothing but a thought drifting ceaselessly in some sort of limbo. If he thought he had been afraid of the slow crumbling of his sanity before the catastrophe which had flung him into a tarry hell, it was nothing compared to the terror he had known after, persisting somehow where nothing else seemed to exist. He had been there for hours, or an eternity, he had no way of knowing. He hadn’t known light again until his tattered soul had been snatched, like a fish on a hook, when he had been jerked from the void and slammed mercilessly back into existence. 

One hundred years he’d been missing, that’s what they told him when he’d overcome shock well enough to process the sounds of their voices again. To a monster, that was something like 10 years in the life of a human. If that person in the dream had existed, they would be long dead. Windings shuddered and tried to push away thoughts of the void. 

_Not tonight._ He thought with gritted teeth. _Not. Tonight._ _You took me once, body and soul. Never again._

He turned his thoughts to the most unnerving part of it; if it was a memory, whoever the human was, he had the feeling they had been a part of their little family. So why was it he couldn’t recall their face? Someone so close to them, he should remember something about. Himself, Sans, Papyrus and…the human. He hadn’t succeeded yet in remembering so much as a hint of a name. He had only the vague notion of sadness to accompany an impressionistic, faceless blur. His little impromptu sabbatical in the void must have had greater impact on his mind than he’d previously thought. When he’d spoken of it to his sons, both had said they had no memory of such a place, nor any memories of another member of the family. There was the added complication of the time frame; in the dream his sons were children, and the being was distinctly human. Though he now remembered next to nothing of that time, he could recall enough history to know that in that era of the world, a time even before their race had been imprisoned beneath the mountain, a human would not have been permitted to live on their lands. 

By the time his sons were old enough to walk, tensions between humans and monster kind had been at their peak, and war seemed an inevitability. The king himself would not have minded the presence of a human, but the humans had grown to see them as something like demons. They thought of them as bloodthirsty, strange, and what they had begun calling their “magic” was unnatural and a thing to be feared. They had taught their children fear through bedtime stories for decades, and the new generations no longer knew monster kind as a race of peaceful beings. If a human had been discovered on their lands, it would have been assumed to be a prisoner of monster kind, held captive to be used as leverage. 

There were some humans who had sided with monster kind, disbelieving the picture of horrors painted by their own kind. His heart had been warmed by the idea until he discovered that those humans, if found out by their own, would have been branded as demons themselves and destroyed. For such reasons, it was forbidden in the monster kingdom to associate with a human. Had a human lived with them at any point, they would not have been able to for long. Another thing that bothered him was his own emotional response. Why the heartache? The dream itself wasn’t a sad one. 

He pinched his nasal ridge against the headache trying to take over his skull. His magic was raging, still surging like adrenaline from the abruptness of his waking, pounding against the inside of his cranium. Insomnia had some nasty side effects. 

He glared at the stars for a long moment as if demanding answers, before sighing again in defeat and heading back to his bed to catch perhaps another hour of sleep before it was time to wake and begin another early day at the lab. His fear of being unconscious was overshadowed by his mind’s need for rest and as his thoughts began to slow and scatter, he hoped this time he wouldn’t dream. 


	2. 1

1 

“you look like shit.” 

“And I spent so much time doing my makeup, too...” 

“when was the last time you slept through the night? you're gonna burn out, if you don’t watch it. you’re not exactly a spring skeleton anymore, old man.” 

“I can handle myself, thank you, son.” 

“look, maybe you oughta take the day off, huh? it's not like we have a barrier to break.” 

“What’s on the schedule today?” 

“you had the dream again.” 

“...” 

“the engineers want clarification on some of the blueprints. theory group is having a bad time with some details, they want a directional nudge and a bit more time to hash things out before the presentation, we have a new intern, and Alph wants to have a meeting before the end of the week to talk about--” 

“--intern?” 

“uh. yeah.” 

“I don’t remember advertising a position, Sans.” 

“well, that’s because you didn’t. Alphys and I, we thought maybe it might not be such a bad--” 

“No.” 

“oh, come on, you haven’t even met them. but we have, and i’m telling you it’s the best idea we’ve had in ages.” 

“Except the idea was no doubt spurred by pressure to make us seem a little less.... secretive, right? 

“...yeah, okay. yes, it was, at first... but we lucked out. look, just meet them, that’s all we ask. it's going to change your mind.” 

Gaster set the carafe of coffee, black as a night sky, back under the brewer with a clunk and a long-suffering sigh as he lifted the mug. 

_It’s not even 8am, I haven’t had a single sip of coffee, and I’m already tired. An intern? Oh, sure, we aren’t wanting to appear as if we have something to hide, since the humans’ government is already suspicious of everything we do, but is this really necessary? We should be allowed to make progress in peace. We’ve been back up here for years now, it’s the twenty first century, for starlight’s sake._

He took a sip of scalding coffee as he mused, letting Sans leave ahead of him, carrying what looked to be a tray of refreshments. 

_Though I can’t say I expected any less. It seems hundreds of years haven’t exactly changed what human kind thinks of when they hear the word “monster”. Just last week there were protestors picketing the courthouse. Steely eyed, with bandanas covering half their faces, carrying guns and banners, shouting something about how marriage is sacred. All because two kids fell in love and showed up to get hitched. If that’s how they respond to love, will there ever be a place for us here? It could be worse than staying underground. Wouldn’t that be ironic._

Such are Wingdings’ thoughts, as he treads at a grudging snail’s pace to his and Sans’ office, passing lab workers bustling about around him, hope driving them with something as fierce, perhaps, as determination. 

_Look at them,_ he mused. _Thirty_ _years_ _ago,_ _they might have been half -heartedly setting traps, hoping, but not quite believing, that the last human would fall._

The cities had been overcrowded, families were starving, at times there weren’t enough beds in the hospital to treat everyone who needed it, and so some were seen wandering off into the wilderness to simply fade and fall down. 

_No,_ Gaster decided, remembering the darker side of the caverns. _There may have been some_ _semblance of_ _peace there, but it was a tense kind._

Like a volcano that wasn’t quite dormant. Much longer down there, and something worse would have happened. They had all felt it. No, they hadn’t been better off in the underground. The surface was flawed; humans were fearful for the most part, and full of hate, but they weren’t all like that. Perhaps that small ray of light would grow, and until then, who was he to ignore the light in the eyes of the incredible team working here? He hadn’t seen monsters so actively pursuing progress since long before the fall, years before the war. They would make a life here. They would have to. 

Wingdings paused outside the office, and scowled at the closed door as if it had said something uncouth about his mother. He gripped the coffee mug as if it were a magical item that could make a portal capable of taking him to another, more pleasant dimension. The manic, sleep deprived part of his mind entertained briefly the idea of looking into the feasibility of making such a thing before he shook his head and forced himself back to the here and now. 

On the other side of that door was a human who presumably was here to gain experience in a laboratory setting, to grow as a scientist. He shouldn’t immediately assume they were some sort of government spy, or malicious mole sent to sabotage their work. He shouldn’t, but a part of him whispered it anyway. There was too much to lose. Surely Sans and Alphys knew that? Why they had taken this kind of risk was beyond him. He knew that not all humans were out to get monsters, there was proof of that everywhere nowadays. Yet, he found it difficult to shake his feelings of distrust. He was sure it was in part because of the wartime experience. After all, from what few memories he had, it was plain that had been a nightmare on its own and that was before they had been stuffed into caves, not to see the light of day for hundreds of years. They had endured war, humiliation, imprisonment, then famine and in some cases disease. So much death. Even that, time could help to mend in one’s mind. Even an impression left by endless hate could slowly be eroded provided certain environmental conditions were satisfied. 

Now the majority of his apprehension was not borne of anger at past injustice, but rather of fresh fear. The political and social climate had been such lately in their area that he feared the renewed interest of the more active anti-monster groups. None of them, from what he had seen, were quite organized enough nor had connections such that they would be able to send a convincing spy, one with a scientific background into their midst, but he did find it odd that a human had answered the advertisement. They ran the risk of being ostracized at best, at worst actively persecuted by their own people. Malicious or benign, their reasons for applying were obviously backed by a strong desire if doing so was worth the high probability that they would face a disproportionate amount of opposition. 

He supposed it was best to not immediately dismiss them. He had heard once some human saying about keeping enemies close. In this situation, perhaps the brief opportunity to observe their behavior on his own grounds, in a close and controlled environment, might reveal any malevolent motives they may harbor. If he were to reject them outright with no sound reason, it could have several unpleasant consequences. 

As Wingdings came to a decision, he realized he’d been squinting at the door for an unknowable amount of time as if it, too, were a thing sent to spy on him. Releasing the tense position of his shoulders, taking a long draw from his now still hot but no longer steaming mug, and exhaling to steady himself he summoned the stone-faced expression he often wore for such occasions. He was known for having the most impassable of poker faces and while at times it was more of an unfortunate habit that distanced him socially, in situations like these he thought of it as an invaluable battle shield. 

The moment he turned the knob and stepped over the threshold, dragging his eyelights up to catch his first glimpse of this newcomer, he paused mentally. He was unsure what exactly he’d been expecting, but he had a sense of displacement. Never mind that the scene into which he’d unwittingly stepped as if on cue was comically bizarre. 

He had such an affinity for the ridiculous he nearly forgot suspicion and had to fight a small laugh. 

The air was tense. Alphys was wringing her hands nervously and sweating as Sans backed away in mock surrender with his hands in the air, laughing too hard to remain standing completely upright. 

You were glaring daggers at Sans, your eyes alight, the gears of your mind clearly beginning to whir with thoughts of revenge. Revenge for what, he had yet to see as you seemed wholly unscathed, but that look was one he’d seen on countless faces and was one which could only mean Sans had not yet grown tired of his classic arsenal of pranks. 

In less time than it took to blink, however, you had straightened your posture and composed your expression, apparently having registered his arrival. You turned to him with a practiced, professional smile, and held out your right hand for a shake. He accepted it graciously, his own expression cool and collected. Then you opened your mouth to introduce yourself. 

Your teeth and tongue were painted a glowing, sparkling, neon green. Sea tea. Ah, yes, that telltale scent was in the air now. It was lovely and fragrant, but didn’t normally stain one’s mouth. Now that he thought about it, it had been odd for Sans to be so actively considerate as to take an entire tray of tea and sweets to the office. A tray with a mirror for a base. He must have missed it before, wrapped in his thoughts as he’d been. He could only assume Sans had offered you his own “special” blend, _guaranteed_ to calm the nerves before a big meeting with the boss. It seemed to have worked, if not for the reason advertised. You were aglow with energy, practically sparking as you appeared to be struggling to swallow the urge to strangle Sans in effort to salvage the first impression. He empathized. His son had a gift for the art of bafoonery. Gaster had long since given up trying to figure out where on earth he would have learned such behavior, but even after being many times on the unfortunate end of his sons’ pranks, he couldn’t help but find himself entertained. 

He smiled a small smile that he hoped was completely devoid of amusement, in effort to move things along. 

“Yes, I was told you would be joining us today. Please, take a seat.” He waved toward the chair opposite his own desk and you smiled graciously again, with teeth this time, as if in defiance. You were not about to let Sans’ jackassery get the better of the interview, it seemed. 

“Thank you." You said as you took a seat, the old wooden frame of the chair creaking slightly "I’ve enjoyed a tour of the facility already this morning, and I have to say I’m thoroughly impressed. What you’ve done here, with limited access to resources, is remarkable. You have an amazing team here, Dr. Gaster. I would be privileged to work with such a talented group.” 

_Flattery, eh? Haven’t you been told it will get you nowhere?_

“Oh, yes, they are a gifted bunch. Of particular pride here is attention to the most minute of details, as such there is no shortage of tasks to be completed. That having been said, for many of those tasks there is, as you mentioned, ‘limited resources’ and so a level of ingenuity far above what might normally be required of them is essential sometimes for the most basic endeavor. Long hours, late nights and early mornings are commonplace here. There is much for us to learn, now that monsterkind is on the surface again. We have, I’m afraid, so much work to do it may be difficult to find time for ones’ self-care.” 

He wasn’t lying, not exactly. If he were to have been more specific, however, such a thing was not a standard of the place but rather was only ‘commonplace’ for himself. The team here _did_ have a strong work ethic spurred by a desire to liberate monsterkind from the need for energy that was not being accessed easily from the humans’ infrastructure. Many families unable to generate light with magic were left using candles and oil lamps at night, and their “hospital”, if one could call it that, was so limited they had to take many shortcuts to conserve power for the most dire of situations. 

In the underground they’d had the Core, a behemoth structure years in the making, siphoning seemingly limitless geothermal energy from the volatile pool of magma seething away outside their capital city. Here on the surface, they had no choice but to begin relying on whatever “donation” they could be granted by humankind’s power plants. It was not enough, not by far, and if nothing was done, they wouldn’t survive here for long. Begging for rations of electricity was bad enough, he couldn’t imagine what sort of conditions they might have to agree to if they were to become fully reliant on the humans’ resources. Besides that, from what he’d gathered, they were due to run out themselves, apparently having run their society’s engines on the fossilized remains of ancient life for decades, a supply which was by no means limitless. He was at the forefront of monsterkind’s quest for independence, attempting to work tirelessly for as long as he could continue concentrating to find the numerous work-arounds, bug fixes and synthesis of alternative materials they needed on an almost daily basis. He’d been accused of being a workaholic on countless occasions, and the accusation was so truthful he couldn’t even be offended. 

He watched your face carefully, looking for the hint of uncertainty in the desire to work here, as he was sure he had painted a vivid picture of misery, and to his immediate chagrin he found nothing beyond that eager light in your eyes and slight nod of agreement, as if this was exactly the sort of environment you had expected upon applying. 

Over your shoulder he glimpsed Sans’ perpetual too-smug grin and a gentle lift on the right brow bone, an only slightly incredulous expression. Sans probably would have guessed he was not about to make this easy, but perhaps he was surprised just how thick he was laying it on. He retained a flat expression, flicked his eyes back to his interviewee and continued 

“It must seem positively dismal by standards of proper work-life balance.” He shook his head as if regretfully revealing cons of the workplace. “Despite that our people work tirelessly and with pride, as you seem to have noticed. Thank you for your kind remarks. I’ll be glad to pass them along as they are sure to boost morale.” Gaster paused as if hesitating. “Now, in the interest of being _fully_ transparent, I must make something more clear; you see, the advertisement was for a less... involved position and so much of the work would be menial tasks when compared with what you may have seen our esteemed colleagues working on during the tour. I apologize for any misconception this may have created. I do hope it isn’t too much of a disappointment.” 

He had briefly considered taking the route of acting aloof, giving you a vision of the place as unattainably advanced and beyond your abilities, but one look at those eyes and he’d known that would be a grave tactical error. Such a game would have you more determined than ever, he was sure, to meet seemingly impossible standards. He sensed a deep and abiding passion that he felt under other circumstances he would have endeavored to encourage and support, as passion for science was a thing to be cultivated, never discouraged. A part of him was cringing away from the idea that he was doing just that at this very moment; attempting to dissuade what could very possibly be a young mind brimming with ideas from contributing the much-needed brain power to their cause. 

“Work-life balance _is_ important,” you began slowly “but from what I’ve seen so far, although this place seems bustling, the pace seems far from unhealthy, at least from an outsider’s perspective. I enjoyed the atmosphere. This place has an energy I haven’t encountered elsewhere.” you paused, fidgeting with your hands, and continued “I dreamed of working in such an environment when I began studying physics, but after a time I’d given up on the idea of finding it already in existence. I was sure I’d have to just build it myself someday. I did an exhaustive search for a position in the first couple years after graduation, with the hope of finding this vision I had, but by the time I applied here, if you’ll excuse the honesty...I had given up that search and decided before even taking a tour that I would accept whatever job was offered to me next, just so that I might start gaining experience _somewhere_.” 

At this point you seemed somewhat embarrassed, but bulled ahead with your explanation “Thirty minutes into being shown around and they took me by the main event, your ‘IGNIO Project’.. I must have forgotten the rush of having a new idea, because I started daydreaming and Alphys almost had to shout at me to get my attention...” You trailed off and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind your ear, the tip of which was flushed crimson and you suddenly clammed up. It was remarkable, and he saw as if in slow motion the transition in your demeanor. Your former vibrancy had dimmed. You cleared your throat quietly and said, meeting his eye almost reluctantly “I’ve been rambling, but I feel I would be privileged to be a part of this team. I find the atmosphere stimulating, the project an inspiration, and the people here embody what I believe it means to be successful. If I have to start at the bottom, then I don’t think there’s a better place to do it.” 

Gaster simply sat, motionless as marble, skeletal hand braced on his face as his son’s smile brightened, his grin peeking like a cheeky sunrise over your shoulders. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to stop himself from rubbing his temples and glaring back at him. If only looks could kill. He sighed softly in defeat. 

Sans: 1 Old Geezer:0 

How on earth was he supposed to say no to that, spy or not? 

You, seemingly oblivious of this exchange, smiled nervously back at what he was sure was now the soured face of a skeleton who looked well past the days of being impressed by anything. Old Gasbag, department chair of the School of Blowing Hot Air, that was Dr. Gaster. 

He said after a pregnant pause, the air in the room having fast increased in pressure, “Tomorrow is a busy day for us. There’s a meeting taking place around 2, a way to sort of gather the department heads in a room to make sure everyone’s on the same page, progress is properly assessed, and any significant trends and issues are discussed. As may have been mentioned to you, we have what could turn out to be a critical point in our progress coming up very soon. In about a month, we will be meeting with potential investors from local businesses, which, as I’m sure you could guess, would be instrumental to our success provided it is carried off as well as we are hoping it will.” 

Human investors, of course, as there were no monster businesses capable of lending such support, not yet. They would need to showcase their talents in a spectacular display, presented with the kind of immutable hospitality their kind had held at the core of their culture since time immemorial. This was especially important given the recent climate. They were likely to be under intense scrutiny, judged of their worthiness over small details. 

In other words, they were under pressure to pull off one hell of a presentation. 

He watched you for signs of recognition, giving pause in certain parts of his speech. The part of him that was begrudging of this entire situation and his own inability to deescalate the turn of events, the part of him that was still afraid of what this may bring, hoped you would not pick up what he was putting down, interpret his demeanor as dismissal, and leave. 

The part of him that sincerely loved science, which held close the desire to encourage curiosity and ingenuity, and the part that dearly wished to help his people, hoped you were as insightful as you seemed. 

It was the most confusingly proud moment for him when he saw the moment you caught on, that spark from before returning, lighting the blaze that was now in full force. A thousand watt, literally glittering, and still green, smile returned. You were positively beaming when you stood to lean forward and offer your hand once more as you affirmed “I’ll be here bright and early. I won’t let you down.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original plan was to get this posted last night, however, as previously mentioned, I had a lot to do so it fell lower on the priority list. Anyway enjoy, and if you find a typo or have critique/advice, by all means comment! I can't promise I'll take suggestions for story direction, but I do want critique of the writing itself as I'm always trying to improve wherever I can. This is my second story, so I feel like I have nowhere to go but up, and advice can only help with that. There are some things that may not make too much sense just yet, but to my knowledge all are intentional, and loose ends will be wrapped up as the story weaves itself into existence. Feel free to make observations, however, just in case I've missed something. 
> 
> As an aside; does anyone else feel like Gaster sighs a lot for someone his age?
> 
> Edit: I just realized when I posted this, the chapters got mixed up and this appeared as the first entry for several hours. How embarrassing. For anyone who is returning to this work confused, Determination is definitely the introduction. It should be fixed now, though.


	3. 2

“She’s relentless!”  Gaster exclaimed.

Sans, lounging in his chair, his feet propped on his desk with an air of indifference only he could  radiate , said “what’s she done this time?”

“Oh, what’s she done  _ this _ time. What indeed. No matter what  she’s assigned to do, she finds some way to finish all of it in half a day, then makes some excuse to come waltzing in, playing it off as if  she’s simply browsing in her free time .  It’s not just me. She barges in everywhere and she makes comments, the entire time, about the designs, and the progress, and how we might try to improve-”

“and she’s right.”

“Yes. Yes,  she’s right, because of course she is. She’s right and she feels the irrepressible need to finish everything as early as possible just to come in there every day and prove it.”

“you know, some people would be impressed by that. and some people might even say  it’s almost like she’s doing it to impress you, so she can  help out more and maybe since  she’s so brilliant you should listen to what she says more often.  i mean,  i would never say things like that, because we’re family so  i’m on your side, but some people might.” Sans’ grin stretched an almost  imperceptible inch wider as he continued to pretend to read an article in the latest issue from the office subscription to a modern science magazine.

Gaster narrowed his eye sockets “Some people don’t have anything to lose.”

“and some people are so worried about what they have to lose they don’t let themselves realize the thing they’re most _ likely  _ to lose by taking a few chances now and then is that giant stick up their-”

There was a knock at the door suddenly, and  Gaster continued to glare at Sans, who was purposefully not looking at him, as he strode to it, nearly yanking it open just as they rose their fist to knock again.  Gaster fought the urge to roll his  eyelights as he recognized you, barely stopped himself from bellowing out a curt “what ”.

“Good afternoon. And what might we be able to do for you?” He hoped his mask was in place, otherwise  he’d be likely to sound as if he  was trying to bite his own words.

“I’ve been thinking about the IGNIO lately, and after  taking a look at it I went home and sort of thought things over some more, and I was hoping I might have a word with you. I think I may have something that might be interesting, at least.”

You had an air about you at times like this .  As if your sheer force of will was a  corporeal thing.

There would be no turning you away when you were like this, so he stepped aside  resignedly and walked to his desk chair, plopping  down and turning his gaze up to where you remained standing, staring down at him. You stood there for a moment, as if you  hadn’t quite made up your mind about something. Suddenly, you reached to your side, producing a stack of newly printed papers from a messenger bag hanging from your right shoulder, and dropped them on his desk unceremoniously.

He raised a brow bone in surprise, but when  he’d barely opened his mouth to speak, you cut him off, and  that’s when he realized  he’d been trapped. _ Oh, that was clever. _

“Before you say anything,” you began, “and before you read that, I wanted to clear the air. You  don’t think much of me.  You’ve made that painfully obvious, the last few weeks. That presentation was an absolute disaster, we weren’t ready at all, and the press practically accused us of being mad scientists, one day, like we’re working day and night to bring about the apocalypse, and branded us as delusional hacks the next.”

“Yes. Thank you for that  _ splendid  _ recap-”

“I wasn’t finished.” you fixed him with a stare that made his mouth snap shut before continuing. “Like I said, you’ve made it  very clear what you think of me. I’m a bit confused sometimes about why you hired me in the first place, though I’m starting to suspect maybe it wasn’t your idea.”

Sans’  eyelights shot up from his paper behind you at that, clearly that was a deduction even he  hadn’t thought  you’d make.

“Regardless of whose idea it was, here I am.  I’m not usually the type for this kind of...confrontation. I dislike acting as if  I’m not grateful to be given an opportunity. Please  don’t misunderstand; I am grateful. Humans have done your people wrong for centuries, and even now  attempts at diplomatic relations are  almost a joke.  It’s a shitshow. You have every right to feel  slighted and abused, because you have been.” you paused as if considering your words.

“but. What I think  isn’t right is that you hired me to do a job, and you seem irritated when  I’ve done it. You hired me, after I told you how inspired I was, how eager I was to be involved with this whole thing, and yet you seem almost angry when, after I’ve completed everything asked of me, I try to learn something. I was ecstatic when I started work here, I thought ‘Here it is, finally a group of  _ scientists _ , not another council of  cantankerous , bickering windbags trying to measure whose .... _ brain _ is bigger.’ __ And  for the most part, I was right. Everyone here has been pretty open, except you.” You took a breath and rubbed the back of your neck in frustration.

“I would understand if you had misgivings about a human working for you. I can only imagine what it must have been like. Persecution, injustice...  I’ll never know what  you’ve gone through to get where you are.  I’d understand if you hated me. But  that’s not why you  don’t like me working here, is it? And  don’t try to deny it, either.  You’ve been squinting at me since the day I got here, so either  there’s something I  don’t know about your eyesight, or you have some sort of beef with  me in particular . Last week I was in the middle of talking to Dr.  Elger about one of the fail-safes, and you came from nowhere, then you asked me to  go and get coffee.  _ Coffee.  _ Like I was hired on as  a waitress .”

When he was too stunned to comment, you pinched the bridge of your nose and relaxed slightly.

“Look, again, I don’t like being so...abrupt.  I’m sure this outburst must seem unprecedented at best and entirely unprofessional at worst. I didn’t come in here with the intention of berating you.” you paused, and he could practically feel your irritation gaining back some of its momentum as you said

“I did want to make it clear that while I am no stranger to lack of harmony in the workplace, and have found myself adaptable to adverse conditions, able to work with some very  _ different _ personalities, I find your attitude to be especially counterproductive and your behavior abrasive. I  don’t believe in being handed the sort of respect it takes years to build, but I  _ do _ believe in being treated with the  kind of basic courtesy all life on this spinning rock deserves. You  don’t have to read that, and you  don’t have to let me back in the door tomorrow after this, because  you’re another person and you  don’t _ have _ to do anything. I think you  _ should, however _ , whatever you decide to do, find some time in your busy schedule to work on your communication skills. You’re a smart man, Dr.  Gaster , but intelligence is no substitute for decency; it is an  inextricable constituent of the kind that matters.”

If you had looked flushed during that first interview, you were on fire, now .  All the blood had gone to your ears, it seemed, your eyes were hard and dangerous as flint. They were focused like a lens, staring  unflinchingly into his own. Your spine was rigid, your forehead  furrowed , and your lips pursed in a way that made  Gaster want to  squirm right out of his chair and melt through the floor. 

The Void be damned, you were terrifying.

You huffed and, finally, removed that laser stare from him to gaze at some  nondescript place on his desk. Your jaw relaxed then, your shoulders eased, and the storm in your eyes began to ebb. 

You then crossed your arms and looked him in the eyes once more, a hard look despite having  relaxed somewhat . You blinked once, seemed about to say something else, but then closed your mouth,  turned and left, the office door closing with a soft click behind you.

The silence was deafening in the wake of your exit. Sans opened his mouth, then promptly shut it as Gaster, still staring at the door, said “I suppose you’re going to tell me I deserved that.”

His perpetual grin widened, and he shrugged his shoulders, turning to pull a blue hoodie from where it hung on the coatrack by the door. He spent a few moments longer than he needed, packing some things from his  desk and shoving them into a bag, mostly to annoy  Gaster . When he finally slung the bag over a shoulder he turned, hands in his pockets. As the air around him took on an unsettled quality, beginning to bend subtly, he said “ welp ,  i think  i’m calling it a day . you know,  i think maybe you should just talk to her.”

“Yes?”

“ yeah . she seemed a little upset with you.”

“Sans...”

Sans sighed and his expression changed, becoming suddenly and uncharacteristically serious, before he said “apologize.  i'm sure everything’ll be just-”

“Don’t-”

“ _ spine.”  _ And then he was gone, seeming to wink out of existence with a quiet, hearty chuckle, leaving a frozen  Gaster to stare at the stack of papers you left behind like they were a snake  coiled on his desk.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back. My deepest apologies, and thanks to everyone leaving kudos and kind comments. It warms my heart, and means so much to me that you are enjoying the story. As you may imagine, there are many things happening on my end, too many to process, and I've needed time to do just that. I'll do my best to ensure I'm not gone so long this time. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Please enjoy.


	4. 3

_ Oh my god. What have I done.  _

The adrenaline wore off as soon as you shut the door of your apartment and dropped your bag to the floor. You kicked your shoes off and braced both hands on the counter, staring off into space.

_ God, but the look on his face was priceless. Except it might not be exactly “priceless _ _ ”. _ _ Fuck that was stupid. How am I supposed to pay rent if I get fired?  _ When  _ I get fired.  _ _ There’s _ _ no way I can go back now. I  _ _ didn’t _ _ just burn that bridge, I vaporized it. Why didn’t I just flip him the bird while I was at it? _

Your face rested on your palms, your fingers pressing against your eyelids as you tried those deep breathing techniques to stave off the panic rising in your throat. 

_ Relax _ _.  _ You chided yourself,  _ You did this. You should have thought it through, instead of barging in there and tearing your boss a new one. Apart from him being a grade A asshole, it  _ _ wasn’t _ _ half bad, and they were doing some amazing things there. You could have been one of them. _

But when? Would they have stopped treating you like a secretary in five years? In ten?  _ Not  _ them, you reminded yourself,  _ him.  _ Everyone else there had been generous about sharing their work with you. Really,  he’d been the only  bad thing about working there. Of course, he was also there, it seemed, every time you were just beginning to take off with an idea, or having a fascinating conversation with someone,  scowling in the  background or redirecting their attention. 

_ What was his problem, anyway?  _ You thought as your stomach growled, reminding you that you had been so preoccupied you  hadn’t eaten lunch.

Was he jealous? Surely not. He was an asshole, but you had to admit, albeit grudgingly, he was  probably the smartest person you had ever met. Aside from Sans, that is, who was much more agreeable, if somehow unsettling at times.

You pulled a pan that had seen better days from the space beneath the stove and slid it onto a burner, before turning to your pitifully stocked refrigerator to take inventory of what you had to work with for dinner. 

_ Guess  _ _ it’s _ _ time to send more emails. If I  _ _ don’t _ _ get a new job soon I may  _ _ actually starve _ _.  _

Your phone chimed as you eyed the chicken breast in the fridge, wondering if you had any tortillas left.

As you reached for it to check your notifications, it began to buzz impatiently on the counter. 

You answered the call  almost without looking with a “Yellow”

“We’re heading out, you on your way?”

Oh right. It was Thursday. Your friends had convinced you to make plans a week ago, after several consecutive attempts at trying to drag you out of your apartment for fresh air. What could you say? You had been so inspired by work for once you had even begun spending time at home doing research.

“Oh shit I forgot about that.  It’s been a day. Anyway, I  can’t .  Pretty sure I got myself fired today.”

“Oh shit” Cassie’s tone suddenly changed, “what’d you do?”

“Well, I might have stormed into the boss’ office and torn him a new one...”

“Um. Wow.” She chuckled

“Yeah... I’m  pretty sure I’m not getting that last paycheck.”

“Shit. It must have been something to get you that worked up. I don’t think I’ve even seen you tell someone off before.”

“And it’s hopefully the last time. That guy was a new  _ level _ of asshole.”

She laughed and said “Well, you let us know if you need anything, you seemed pretty excited about this one. I know things might be tight for a while, but  we’re here for you. Even if that was  pretty stupid , it sounds like he deserved it.”

“Ugh,  yeah , it was monumentally stupid. If anyone asks, I’ll be pouring through job sites and sending emails tonight.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

“I’ll try. Later, Cass.”

“Later.” 

As the phone beeped, signifying the end of the call, you  couldn’t help but  deflate , just a bit. You  _ had _ been excited about the job. It was a dream come true for you, and the odds you would ever find such a perfect match again in your field were vanishingly small. There was the added complication that, despite his awful treatment, you knew you  couldn’t even begin to understand where he had been coming from.

You were a human, incapable of understanding how their kind had suffered, and that was after they had come back to the surface. What would it have been like, trapped underground for centuries? No sun, no moon, no stars, no big blue sky dotted with fluffy cumulus clouds on a summer day. You stared at the empty pan on the stovetop and mused. You felt suddenly a little guilty .  He had no right to treat anyone that way, but it was entirely possible that he harbored lingering resentment toward your species, and who were you to decide how he should feel about working with you? 

However, he  hadn’t seemed resentful in his actions. He seemed irritated, sure. But  also perhaps a bit nervous. You thought the idea that he was nervous might just be your imagination .  You were told that you seemed unapproachable at times to those who  didn’t know you well, and  perhaps a bit intimidating, but he was far more imposing than you, in your opinion. Impeccably dressed, always in a grey turtleneck and  black jacket and trousers , with black shoes to match .  He spoke clearly and concisely and seemed very invested in his work, which was also done well. He was clearly a perfectionist, if  perhaps to a fault. You  hadn’t known skeletons could manage to look tired, or how it worked exactly that he  seemed to have dark circles under his eye sockets, but he seemed like a person sleep deprived, if ever  you’d seen one. It only served to make him look more unapproachable.

When he scowled you could see why humans would be afraid of him. You  definitely didn’t want to see the man genuinely angry. No, it  wasn’t likely he was intimidated, with the exception  perhaps of the lecture you gave him before you stormed out of their office. He had been practically squirming in his chair, and you  couldn’t help but feel some small satisfaction at getting such a man to be, however briefly, completely unable to do anything but sit there and listen to what you had to say. 

Such complicated emotions, you thought. Pride, guilt, satisfaction,  disappointment , all rolled into one day. You were exhausted.  Maybe you _ could  _ use the cheering up that spending a night out could bring. 

As if your thoughts had been broadcast, your phone chimed suddenly.  Opening your messages, you smiled instantly down at the  text from your best friend ,  Mike.

_ Yo _ _. Cass says you got fucking fired today? Way to tell your best friend, bitch. _

You texted back.  _ Hey. I said I *probably* got fired. Stormed into his office and yelled at him for being a prick.  _ _ I’m _ _ sad though. Job was a dream come true. Everything about their work was amazing. You should have seen that place. They had second hand everything, but the things they had  _ _ come up with _ _ despite that, you just  _ _ wouldn’t _ _ believe.  _ _ They’re _ _ decades above the work  _ _ we’re _ _ doing on ITER, and that place is a multinational effort. Part of me hopes  _ _ they’ll _ _ let me come back, and he may have only been an asshole because  _ _ I’m _ _ human, but I  _ _ don’t _ _ really think that was it. I said what I meant in there, though, so even though I feel  _ _ kinda _ _ guilty, I  _ _ don’t _ _ think apologizing for it is right, either.  _

_ I’m _ _ sure you had a good reason for it. You  _ _ don’t _ _ just go up to people and yell at them for no reason, so  _ _ I’m _ _ sure whatever he did to make you so mad, it was bad. He  _ _ didn’t _ _ harass you, did he?  _

_ No, he  _ _ didn’t _ _. He was just stuck up and  _ _ wouldn’t _ _ let me do what I was there for. It was  _ _ really weird _ _. He kept interrupting me every time I tried to talk to someone to learn about the project _ _.  _ _ I kept having to do a bunch of grunt work every day that I suspect was just to keep me busy. They advertised the position as if they were looking for a fellow researcher, but  _ _ you’d _ _ think I had been hired on as a secretary. _

_ Fuck that _ _.  _ He replied. Then a moment later  _ You should come out with us. Get out of your place for a bit. _

_ Can’t _ _. Just lost my job  _ _ most likely, remember _ _? Going to be too broke to get groceries if I  _ _ don’t _ _ watch it.  _ _ Have to _ _ be  _ _ responsible _ _.  _

_ Did I ask if you  _ _ were broke _ _? _ _ Get the fuck _ _ out here _ _ ,  _ _ I’m _ _ buying you drinks. _

_ You’re _ _ outside already  _ _ aren’t _ _ you? _

_ Yep. _

_ Alright _ _. Give me a sec, I need to change. _

_ K _

You should have known. Despite  your tired sigh, you were grateful. Your friends were the best.  They had become family to you,  and you never let each other down. Oh, you argued about  small  things sometimes, bickered like a real family,  but  you were always there for each other. 

You smiled as you remembered roadside patch jobs on the piece of shit car he used to drive around, and late-night stops at greasy diners on road trips. Tugging your favorite dress on and smoothing it over your hips, you turned to your mirror to wrestle your hair into a suitable arrangement for a night out, then decided to instead pull out the pins that had been keeping it up for the day, letting unruly waves fall to just above your shoulders. You shook it out and  tousled it a bit for good measure, then went in search of your one pair of heels. They were a treasure, really .  You hated heels in general but these stayed,  rather miraculously , comfortable even up to a few hours of wearing them.

You slipped them on, touched up your  makeup, and grabbed a small clutch purse from your closet before clicking carefully down the stairs and out to your friend, idling by the sidewalk and staring at his phone. As you  neared he looked up and whistled. 

“Hey girl,  you need a ride?”

You rolled your eyes but grinned at the cheesy joke, typical of your best friend.

“Yep.” You deadpanned,  and  dropped  into the passenger seat. “Where’s Cass?”

“At the bar with Sam and Luke. We decided we weren’t about to let your mopey ass sit at home, so I came on a solo mission.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re in this together.” He said, then suddenly smirked and added “But, if you happen to buy me drinks the next time I’m broke, I’m not gonna turn it down.” And he chuckled, put the car into drive as you laughed, and you were off.

Ten minutes later you found yourself surrounded. Your friends had saved a table and insisted on buying several drinks. After you were slightly  tipsy they finally backed off, Mike and Cass as usual uncaring of what anyone might think of their PDA, Sam and Luke arguing about techniques in their favorite game. You sat back and took in the surroundings, feeling relaxed for the first time that day. Bars  weren’t really your scene or theirs usually, but it was nice to gather now and then, and this place was much more laid back than the other ones in town, you thought .  It was certainly more inclusive. 

The place was dark and comforting, and the only lights came from behind the bar, a few places around the stage and the tables scattered around the room. At each there were small sphere-shaped globes made of  clear glass with candles inside, lending a soft warm glow, just enough to light those sitting at them but not enough to clearly illuminate passerby. The usual roar of a crowd was not present, instead a low  murmur of various conversations hovered in a low din and alternative rock played distantly from speakers somewhere in dark corners of the room. The bar was back-lit with magenta and blue, with the occasional sphere and tiny flame dotting the long, polished wood table reflecting their flickering. There, more patrons sat, waiting on their drinks. 

Perhaps most interesting was the crowd itself.  Monsters and humans, all packed together, sipping at their  glasses and  talking in groups, in couples and leaning against  the bar and the walls.  The bartender  was also a monster, a bright  flame in the shape of a man.

You found yourself wondering what this place was called, so you could remember and request the next outing to be here instead. You felt comfortable here, which was a strange sensation for you to have at a bar. No doubt the alcohol was doing  its part, but the  ambiance of the place was dark and soft, the crowd less rowdy and more engaged in conversation than dancing, which you found relaxing. 

“Guys, I’m going to the restroom. Be right back.” You said to your friends. A couple of them nodded and looked at the menu ,  discussing what food they may want to order. 

As you left the bathroom  you paused a moment,  facing the bar.  _ What are the odds. _ You thought. There  on one of the stools, chatting  amicably with the fiery  bartender, was Sans.

You decided it would probably be more awkward to say hello than to pass by, and so you tried not to look at him, hoping your presence wouldn’t be noticed as you had to pass where he sat to return to the table. Even though Sans  hadn't been the focus of your  tirade , you had no doubt it would be an uncomfortable conversation if you were to greet him and try to chat here after what had happened. 

As you  attempted to duck by however, you heard his deep voice say “ yeah , and we had this great new intern, too. she was a real  firecracker , Grills. you woulda liked her.  it’s just  _ too bad she  _ _ didn’t _ _ stick around… say. there she is right now.”  _

You heard the moment he had turned in his seat to stare pointedly at you. You turned to see his smug grin, his cheek perched in one of his boney palms, and a bottle of ketchup, of all things, in the other as it rested on the bar. He patted the stool next to him and said “should let me buy you a drink. when you left today you looked like you could use one.” He chuckled and made a gesture to Grillby, who nodded to you and began preparing an amber colored drink in a  tumbler .

“ Hello , Sans.” You greeted  him,  stepping up and sliding onto the stool next him. 

_ Nothing gets past you, does it? _ You thought, looking over at him as he tipped his head and took a long draw from the bottle of ketchup.  _ You also _ _ ….. _ _ really like  _ _ ketchup, apparently _ _. _ You turned to look at  Grillby instead, trying not to be rude to Sans, but also because  Grillby was  artfully flipping a bottle of colored liquid over one shoulder before pouring it dramatically into the glass. He then promptly placed it on a small metal tray, sprinkled something on top of the ice, and set its surface ablaze by waving a hand over the top. A small blue fire flickered over the surface as he slid it in front of you. You grinned widely and thanked him for the show  as he gave a small bow. You  didn’t know how, but you got the impression he was  smirking, before he turned to serve some newcomers. 

“show off .” Sans  said, grinning beside you.

“That was great.” You said, smiling at the flames. “No one else in town can make these kinds of drinks.  I’m glad we came here tonight. Also, thanks .  I’ll have to order a round of these for my friends sometime.”

“ yeah , that’s his specialty. it’s a little  _ flamboyant _ for my tastes, though.”

You  hadn’t expected the pun. You let out a sudden laugh and said “ I think his skills are legendary. Really, no one in town could hold a candle to him.”

Sans’ grin was huge now. He seemed surprised and delighted at the joke as he laughed and went for more ketchup.

Grillby , having served all his customers, gave the impression of rolling his eyes at Sans before grabbing a rag you could only assume was flame  retardant and beginning to dry glasses.

After several long moments of  companionable silence, Sans said “that was  ballsy of you. what you did today,  i mean.  i bet no one’s ever talked to my old man like that in his life. he did  kinda have it coming.”

“I felt bad about that actually, even though I meant what I said, I still... Wait.” 

Sans raised a curious brow bone at you.

“Your old man? Dr. Gaster is your...father?”

“yep.”

“Wow. I mean, I don’t mean to sound too forward but...the two of you, your demeanor around each other, well it seemed more like you were brothers, so I just kind of assumed.”

“huh.” Sans pondered for a moment and made a small noise of amusement “yeah, i could see that.”

“So, I’m sorry for prying but I’m curious.” You were feeling emboldened by the liquid courage in your system, lulled into security by the dark surroundings and casual atmosphere. “How...old are you, exactly?  I’ve heard that monsters tend to mature, and age more slowly than humans, and so their lifespans are much longer. Is that true or just one of those weird rumors?”

Sans laughed “was wondering when you’d start in on that. we usually get those kinds of questions right away. at least, from any human that’s actually curious enough to talk to us.”

You could feel your ears turning red as he said “ yeah .  that's true.  i'm about 250, i think.”

“Two....two  _ hundred.  _ Two hundred years old?!” You  exclaimed; your voice hushed in awe. 

“ yeah . to us though it’s more like  twenty-five .”

“Okay.  Yeah . I can process that.” You said, staring down into your drink. “So then, if Dr. Gaster is your father, he’s...even older than that, right?”

“he’s about the same age as  Toriel and  Asgore , they grew up together. So, somewhere around 4... 480, maybe .” he said, his brow bones lowering a bit in concentration.

“Four hundred years.  Almost five hundred. I  can’t even imagine. The things he’s probably seen.” You said, struck by the  realization . 

“my brother  Paps and i were around just before the fall, but he was around for a good while before that.”

“The fall?”

“oh. the underground.  it's what we call it. our..uh...’descent’ if you will, into the caverns.”

“Oh.” You felt suddenly as if you had glimpsed something truly dark. You felt a heavy weight in your chest. You could feel your thoughts beginning to blur, and you blurted suddenly “I’m sorry.”

“for what?” Sans looked perplexed for a moment.

“You know. Everything. The underground, the war. I mean, I  wasn’t there, but it must have been awful.  I’d say I  can’t believe we did that but...you only  have to look at our history to believe how capable we are of true horrors. For hundreds of years we were taught you were myths, and that you never existed, after what our people did to yours. Now you’ve all fought your way back to the surface, only to be beaten down again. So, I know it  doesn’t mean much , but  I’m sorry. On behalf of humans, I guess.”

You started as Sans let out a sudden and booming laugh. “oh man. how many have you had tonight? You get  pretty grim when  you’re drunk.” he chuckled “look,  it’ll probably take a while before any of us will really trust you,  I'm not  gonna sugar coat that. our ambassador, Frisk, they taught us a lot about the kind of decency humans are capable of. we came to trust them so much, we made them the ambassador; put  all of our lives into their hands, figuratively, when we asked them to  represent us to their own kind. that doesn’t mean we’re sure we can trust humans, and I'm not convinced we should, but it is clear that you’re all capable, at least, of being like Frisk, and that is what I would like to believe in. so, I can’t accept that apology on behalf of all humans, to all monsters.” he paused, then said

“but if you want to do something to make amends, then don’t be anything like the people who beat us down. recognize the position of privilege into which you were born, and make sure it  isn’t abused. help us build. we  wouldn’t have hired you if we  didn’t think you had the right stuff to do just that. now; knowing all that, that we may not trust you,  maybe we never will, would you still be willing to help us?  don't say yes just because you think  it’s what  you’re expected to say. think about it. if you think  it’s the right thing for you to do, then do it.”

You nodded “I’ll think it over. I think...I still have a lot to learn. But I do want to help. It isn’t right, what’s being done to you.”

“welp. now  that’s been said.  there’s one thing  i can do right now on behalf of monsters. i propose a toast.” he raised a glass  Grillby had pushed toward him a moment before with what you guessed was something like a Bloody Mary inside, it’s spicy fragrance wafting toward you as the reddish liquid inside sloshed forward with the sudden motion.

“A toast to what?”

“landmark diplomatic relations between species, while getting shit faced in a bar.”

“I think I could drink to that.” you said, and his grin was infectious as you picked up your glass and clinked it against his own, raised in the air in front of you.

After draining his drink, Sans held his glass, looking into the bottom and said “you know, the old man might still have some resentment hidden in there somewhere, but  i can say honestly, it’s not the main reason he acted the way he did. “

“Oh?”

“ yeah .  i haven’t seen him with a fire under his ass like that since before...well. just before.” Sans  seemed to be years away, then.  You’d never seen him so serious. The expression vanished just as quickly as it had shown, however, and his usual grin was back. 

“anyway. he  doesn’t hate  you in particular . he also might have been a little jealous.”

“Oh, come on, he is hundreds of years old, and he’s probably a genius, there’s no-”

“hey,  i know him. and  don’t you try to be modest and say  there’s no way. you got brains, kid. we knew it when we hired you, and he knows it too. he saw what you can do. plus, even if he is,  it’s not possible for geniuses to be right all the time and he knows that, too.  i'm not defending how he acted. he was a douchebag of the highest degree. the man has a stick up his ass the size of a redwood. by no means am  i asking you to forgive him.” he paused, placing his empty glass on the counter and sliding it toward  Grillby’s side of the bar.

“that said, Dings may be a hard ass, but it doesn’t mean he can’t take criticism when it’s due. he knows he wasn’t handling himself well, and if  i had to make a bet,  i’d bet he’s writing you an apology as we speak.”

As if one crazy coincidence  weren’t enough for one day, your phone buzzed in your purse and gave a soft  chime ,  indicating a notification. You looked down in surprise, before looking up at Sans, who told  Grillby to put the drinks on his tab, and winked at you before he turned toward the door, raising one hand in a lazy wave over his shoulder.

Stunned, you pulled your phone out of your purse. It was a message from Mike. 

_ Hey, where you at? You went to the bathroom like ten minutes ago. You okay?  _

You chuckled, almost relieved.  There’s no way someone like Dr. Gaster would apologize, let alone just as Sans mentioned it. 

Your phone chimed again and you  opened up your messages to answer what you were sure was another message from Mike before you saw that this time, it was for a new email. 

It was from Dr. Gaster.

Sucking in a surprised breath, you began to read: 

_ To whom it may concern, _

_ I, W.D. Gaster, hereby offer my sincere apology to the person who accepted the offer of intern at New Lab. My behavior over the course of the past three weeks was nothing short of  _ _ reprehensible _ _ , and I regret my actions. I would like to add also that the position is still her  _ _ own, if _ _ she should choose it. _

_ Regards, _

_ W.D.  _ _ Gaster Sc.D. _

You looked up at  Grillby , now polishing the bar. 

“Hey, Grillby?”

He looked up and you said “I’d like six of that drink you made me earlier sent to table 5, if you would.”

He gave the impression of a warm smile before acknowledging the request and pulling glasses from under the bar.


	5. 4

“Good morning, Doctor.”

“Doctor. Please have a seat.” Gaster gestured with a  holey palm to the chair opposite his desk and for the second time in two weeks you found yourself face to face with someone who you were sure would otherwise scare you witless with his permanent seeming mask, his expression that only changed to  scowl , and piercing  eye-lights . 

He sat there in silence for a moment, before crossing his arms, a surprising pose as he had only ever been  straight-backed , his chin forward and his posture entirely confident around you since day one. Now his face was turned slightly to the side, his arms folded over his chest and his chin slightly lowered, his  eye-lights fixed on the pile of papers which sat in an uneven pile on his desk. He seemed decidedly uncomfortable.

“My...conduct the past few weeks, as you have previously mentioned, was unprofessional. It is rare that I have so little control of my emotions. I am sorry that you were subjected to my lack of restraint. I can say after reflection that I was  somewhat envious of your ability to  so quickly solve a problem I had been struggling with for some time. I am an old monster, and being at the forefront of science and technology, guiding  monsterkind and leading them in those areas has been my duty since I was  very young . So, as you might imagine, to be so quickly out-thought by a human a mere three decades on this earth was a bit humiliating. However, after my anger had  cooled I realized it was also a chance to learn something about my own limits, and about the strength that may be gained by collaboration between two different perspectives.” he paused, then continued “and if you do remain on the team, it would mean plenty of healthy competition; chances to prove I have not lost my touch, as has been rumored lately.”

You were almost startled into speech when you saw the tiniest of smirks play around his mouth, but managed to keep your mouth shut. 

_ He can smile?! _

The  smirk then  dissipated , and he turned his gaze to look you in the eyes. 

“I have lost much valuable time, time which could have been spent helping my people. Instead, I was imprisoned underground, and after several centuries of advancing rapidly, on pace with humankind, I was suddenly cut off. Fed scraps of information here and there. Whatever happened by chance to make  its way into the underground. Or at least, that is what I am told.” 

He frowned slightly, and you found his words odd, though you knew it would be rude to interrupt when he was apologizing and offering an explanation, so you waited patiently instead. He  didn’t seem to be of the inclination to elaborate, and instead moved on.

“To have someone raised with all this information  surrounding them which I have needed to piece together from bits of headlines and texts over time and come to understand and expand upon completely on my own, walk in and correct the work we’re doing...well, I was angry. I  shouldn’t have allowed it to govern my actions completely, however justified the emotion may be. “

He entwined his fingers together on his desk, palms clasping as he made a sound as if clearing his throat, then said

“I cannot promise that my behavior will be perfect going forward. I can promise that I will be willing to receive feedback when necessary so that I may improve our ability to work together. Your workload will also be more...focused, on the main project and the  menial tasks given to you before will no longer be an expectation .  I would like you to stay and assist us with our work, if that is your wish.”

Well. That was...certainly more thorough than you had expected .  It was also strange to see emotions made  apparent on his features, however briefly. It was your turn to be struck dumb, it seemed. The atmosphere between the two of you grew more awkward as you struggled to respond. He sat patiently as a boulder, staring at you, expressionless again despite having admitted to being angry for three weeks.

Finally, you settled on “I’d...I’d like that.”

_ Yes. Truly eloquent.  _ _ Good job _ _ , me.  _ You rolled your eyes internally at yourself.

“Good.” Was all he said, and the tension seemed to solidify into a stifling fog

You took a breath, stood up and held out your hand for what you hoped was the last introduction type handshake you would ever have with the man. Steeling yourself, you caught his gaze once more as he took your hand in his own and shook it as you said 

“Well, now that it’s settled...thank you for having me, and I look forward to working with you...” You trailed off. His hand was surprisingly smooth, more so than you expected for one made of bone. You caught yourself  musing and fought a flush, shaking his hand more rapidly than you meant to. You cleared your throat and dropped his hand, then excused yourself, promising to show up early the next morning, and made a hasty exit as you resisted the urge to find the nearest cave to crawl into and hide from your embarrassment. 


	6. 5

The next few months were  practically serene , when compared with the rocky start you had experienced. You arrived early every day at the same time, eager to get a start on the day. Gone were the days of hitting the snooze button and  groggily changing your morning alarm to give you as much time to sleep as possible. You found yourself loving what you did. You felt driven again, like you  hadn’t since you had begun taking classes those years ago. This was it, what you had been looking for when you started this journey. You felt...fulfilled.

Gaster, true to his word, had simmered down and settled into what you guessed was his usual  stormcloud disposition; hovering silently and radiating an endless irritation with the inability of the world in general to meet his standards. Only this time, it  wasn’t solely focused on you. You were instead given ample space and freedom to work on whatever, however you saw fit, which was refreshing. And you were productive, flitting about, speaking with department heads to get input, holing yourself up for hours at a time in the small area of the office designated as a kind of communal workspace; mandatory silence, sparse furniture, and coffee supplies the only things occupying it.

After a few weeks you had even exchanged a few polite greetings with Dr. Gaster, upon arriving to find you were the only two who regularly appeared in office at that ungodly hour.

He seemed to like to spend about an hour at the beginning of his day making coffee in the quiet room, then inspecting the IGNIO machine, muttering to himself lowly and staring at it as he ruminated on problems that needed his attention. 

Since your explosive  meeting several weeks prior you had settled into a routine of heading straight for the coffee room yourself, to find he had  almost always already brewed a pot. You experienced none of the hostility from before, and had caught yourself enjoying his silent companionship on more than one occasion in those quiet mornings before the sun had risen.

Yes, his demeanor could be described as almost amiable despite his  perpetually cranky, aloof nature. Now there was a different problem, and you were certain this one was far more troubling.

Your brow  furrowed as you scanned a security badge at the door under the glow of the orange s ulfur lamp promptly at 5:30am, as had become routine, heading into the blinding fluorescents and tiled floor of the old office building turned laboratory.

The sound of your  gait on the tile was obnoxious, amplified by the silence of the place so early in the morning, but you barely noticed this time as you mused, troubled by the past weeks events. 

The office was gearing up for another opportunity to present to an investor, an upstart company. It was less secure, to be sure, partnering with an upstart, but since the negotiations with the old, established one had fallen through with the disastrous presentation a few months back, and the Lab was already struggling to keep operations going in the first place, you had to take what you could get. 

But that  wasn’t even the thing you more worried about as you turned on the corridor toward the communal think space. No, far more sinister were  encounters with Dr. Gaster lately. Oh, his attitude was fine now, but your reactions to him lately, unbidden, were worrisome. Your mornings had gone as was routine, and were nothing remarkable, but you had begun leaving midday, to take a long break and relax at home or to grab a bite to eat, sometimes to sleep, and you had found yourself returning to work late into the night as well. Now that you were loving what you did, it seemed your ideas just  wouldn’t leave you alone, not that you were complaining. 

On occasion when you returned, you would find Dr. Gaster by himself as usual, making coffee or scribbling away at one of the tables in front of the sofas, camped out in the thinking room, you assumed, to be in close proximity to the office coffee pot as he worked himself to exhaustion. Once you had even caught him napping,  seemingly unintentionally on the couch, pen still in hand, imposing skull less so in sleep, rested on the arm, his tall, thin frame bent at  a very uncomfortable looking angle. His jacket had been dropped carelessly beside him and his sweater wrinkled, the sleeves pushed up his skeletal forearms.

You  weren’t sure when it was you had begun to feel sympathy for him; this cranky, frosty, stone-faced, scary-looking skeleton. But you did. He worked harder than anyone you had ever met, and not without reason. Their cause was one of survival, and he took it  seemingly in stride. He was clearly frustrated, once you saw past the stony exterior, but he took  bad news with an aura of indifference,  immediately launching into a solution, or several, to the setback. He really was amazing, you had thought, as you debated whether to risk waking him by making fresh coffee for yourself.

After having spent considerable time dancing around each other awkwardly in this space, one evening you had a paper shoved silently and without introduction into your line of view as you stared at your own notes, your chin in one hand as you spaced out after hitting a mental roadblock. You had looked up in surprise to see Dr. Gaster, his usual blank expression molded into a frown of  exasperation , his arms crossed. When he said nothing, you decided to look over what had been handed to you, secretly grateful for the distraction from your own suffering. 

You had pondered over it for some time, and eventually he had wandered away, you assumed to go and stare at the machine in thought or  perhaps to take a nap. The former seemed more likely, based on your  previous experience. 

After  perhaps an hour he had returned as quietly as he had left, but this time carrying a white plastic bag  containing Styrofoam takeout containers, and the smell of Americanized Chinese food began to  permeate the room. He had set it on the table between the two couches and began unpacking the food, ripping the lids from the  containers and sliding one of them to you along with a pair of bamboo chopsticks in a red paper sleeve. Incredibly, he had left to buy food for the both of you. Your stomach had growled and you realized suddenly you had not eaten since breakfast that day .  You had wondered idly if that had been going on the entire time, and he had only done it because the sound was distracting him. Whatever the reason, you were grateful and had enthusiastically devoured a generous  portion . 

The two of you ate, and you read his notes, occasionally putting the chopsticks down and scribbling on them in the margins when you wanted to comment on something. Though rare, you did make a couple of corrections, hesitating as you did so, afraid to offend him .  When you had handed the notes back some time later, however, it seemed your fears were unfounded. Or, if they  hadn’t been baseless, at the very least he gave no  indication and had seemed completely  unperturbed by the corrections. He had seemed surprised, or that was the impression you got despite his having made no comment whatsoever as he read, when he reached the end. As you had practically inhaled the last of your fried noodles, you made the mistake of looking up at him as he rose, you assumed to make more coffee. You had met his eyes and then had to fight the urge to  immediately look away even as a blush began creeping up your ears, which had been mercifully hidden by your hair that day.

He had been staring with his typical flat expression, but somehow intensely, this time. He  hadn’t seemed to notice he was making you uncomfortable, and it had only been a few seconds, but when he had finally turned away, you let out a silent breath you  hadn’t realized  you’d been holding. 

_ What the hell _ _ was that about? _ You had thought, staring down at your own notes in attempt to look as if you were completely unaffected by whatever that had been.

You had relaxed again after some time, and things had gone back to normal.

It had become a new routine, meeting in the office at night, occasionally eating takeout, pouring over notes. He would sometimes ask non-verbally for your input and you would hand the notes back to him, but there was no repeat of the first time, and so you had relaxed. At some point the two of you had begun putting what was in the notes into practice; going out to the machine and  making adjustments , drawing up blueprints. You had even begun commenting aloud, sometimes bickering over how best to do something. 

The bickering never lasted long and eventually you would both come to a consensus and get to work on it. More than once you felt surprised when you realized just how easy working with the monster had become. He was hundreds of years old, scary intelligent with a sharp wit and a piercing gaze. Yet, you found yourself increasingly amused when you realized that once used to his antics, he was  more grumpy than intimidating. You had realized you almost found his  surly attitude endearing.

It was a few weeks into this new routine, when you had turned in for the night, that you received a new shock. You had flopped onto your bed in your work attire, too exhausted to change before drifting off, when you analyzed the nights events, and you  hadn’t been the same since. Until that moment you had been too tired to process them fully.

Dr. Gaster had been particularly  irritable that evening, and your usual tactic of bringing him a fresh mug of steaming brew, devoid of light as the center of a black hole,  hadn’t worked. You had suggested you both call it a night, and that had only seemed to sour his mood even further .  Out of ideas for how to handle his stormy demeanor, you had informed him you were going to buy the food this time, and left to pick up carryout. 

You had returned to find him asleep,  apparently having tired himself out. More than likely, his issue was  largely due to lack of sleep. You had noticed the dark circles under his eye sockets, for all the sense that made for a man made of bones .  You sighed at the steaming takeout containers in your hands and set them on the counter for later consumption, noticed the coffee pot was still full and steaming, and decided to get some work done before he awoke and the two of you ate. 

You had poured over your notes for some time before becoming tired yourself, and eventually you had begun reading the same sentence uncomprehendingly. You had begun to nod off and eventually fell asleep.

When you awoke, some of the lights had been turned off, the room even more quiet and dimmed. Gaster was nowhere to be seen, and he had taken his notes with him. Scribbled in the margin on yours was a “Thank You” in an older and simpler style of Wingdings .  You had learned to read them, albeit slowly, within the first two weeks of working late nights in the lab. He tended to lapse into them when tired, and it made sense after you had learned it was his first language. How it had become a human computer font was still  somewhat mysterious to you, but you decided to  look into that later. You had other priorities. 

Speaking of priorities; you had looked over to the bag of takeout on the counter and noticed that one of them was missing from the bag. You had smiled, sleepily, glad that he  hadn’t neglected to take some of the food before he left. You had sat up then, pulled on the jacket draped over your form, gathered your notes and the food, switched off the lights and gone home. It was only later, after diving belly first into your bed and taking a deep breath in contentment that you had made two observations. The first was that the jacket you were wearing was in fact far too large on you, and that  hadn’t been a trick of your sleep  muddled brain when  you’d pulled it on. The second was the fact that it smelled nothing like you. 

You had taken a deeper breath, trying to place the smell, your mind still  somewhat groggy and trying to lull you to sleep again. It took much longer than  perhaps it should have, even for your slowing thoughts, to put the pieces together. Dr. Gaster had used his jacket to cover you while you were sleeping, and had thanked you for the food before he left. As if that  weren’t confusing enough, it was his smell wrapped around you...and it was far from unpleasant. Your thoughts had done a  somersault then, and your heart had pounded. You  shouldn’t have, but you found yourself curling up to sleep, still wearing the jacket and blushing at the way you were practically covered in his scent. 

It was intoxicating, and you  hadn’t been able to scrub it from your mind since. Dark as the man himself, deep and soft as his voice, but somehow also subtly sweet,  musky , and decidedly masculine .  You had embarrassed yourself with the  drowsy thought that you could be smothered by such a scent and die happily. You had buried your face into an arm in embarrassment, only to press your nose into the sleeve and receive a fresh  lungful . You had shivered, bit your lip and decided you would go to your grave and never tell a soul about this, as you drifted and fell asleep, making the excuse that you were simply too tired to remove the jacket now.

The next morning you had awoken, reluctantly removed it and after a long, hot shower, had folded it carefully and brought it to work with you. You had  attempted throughout the day to return it and had been thwarted several times. You had been  attempting to return it discreetly, although you were unsure that, if  he’d lent it to you in the first place, he cared all that much about who witnessed you returning it to him. At that point you were sure the only person making the task difficult was yourself, feeling extremely guilty about having intentionally fallen asleep in it, sniffing it like the creep you were.

You had sighed heavily after returning home that day, and several unsuccessful attempts at returning the jacket. You supposed you would have to face the music and just give it back in person by showing up to the lab that night as usual, since it would be just the two of you again anyway. You had tried to gather your courage.  After all, it wasn’t like anything had changed. You were the only person feeling awkward in this situation, and it would be weird if you stole the jacket for another night and broke your routine of coming into the lab in the evening. That would be even more suspect. You were  definitely overthinking this, you decided. 

So what if he smelled amazing. So what if you had suddenly remembered all the times he had been so close to you, when before he had been about as cuddly as a cactus; when he had begun feeling more comfortable in your presence, standing against your side as he pointed and thought aloud about something in your notes, or in a blueprint.  So what if you had blushed furiously when he had asked you to hand him something or other while working on the machine, and your hand had brushed his gloved one . 

And  so what if you  had fought the urge to swallow thickly, if your temperature had risen just a bit every time he spoke in that low,  raspy tone a little too close to your ear as he leaned over from behind to correct something you were doing with the machine, completely unaware of the effect his chest brushing your back was having on your ability to think of anything else but how his body might feel against yours?

Since when, you wondered, had you become attracted to your boss?

You had rested your palm over your mouth then as you thought, having  returned home for the day, setting the bag  containing the  accursed item on your kitchen counter and staring off into space. Your ears were on fire as you recalled those incidents, which you had brushed off, ignored, or forgotten entirely until then. You were known for being unusually perceptive, but that skill tended to fail when it came to the development of feelings like this one. It happened so rarely and so slowly for you it was no wonder you had trouble recognizing the symptoms. You had felt this way about another being  perhaps twice before. The first time had been wonderful, then a disaster, and with the second you had come to the realization too late. 

You had spent too long stewing, and had broken out of your trance only to notice it was time to head back to the office. You were so distracted you had nearly forgotten to bring your bag and the jacket. 

You discovered with no small amount of relief you had arrived before he had this time, and had returned it by grabbing it from your bag and setting it on the table in the room you’d begun to think of as your shared study space, before you lost your nerve. You had then turned and assumed the duty of coffee brewer for the night. When he did show he appeared more well rested than before, and again to your relief his mood seemed to have improved from the day before. You had been nervous, but he had, rather anticlimactically you thought, apparently found the jacket on the table when you were turned to the task of readying the coffee maker and had stowed it somewhere, as it was gone from the table by the time you had turned back with two steaming mugs of pitch-black bean juice.

You had set the mugs on the table between you and spent the  remainder of the evening  studiously ignoring your latest epiphany and his smell, which was all too noticeable now. If he had known you were working hard to ignore his presence for most of the evening, he  hadn’t made it  apparent , and the night passed in  relatively comfortable ,  companionable silence. Well, comfortable for one of you, you had been sure.

That had been two weeks ago.

As you neared your shared workspace in the coffee room you thought of the exponential growth of your awareness of him since your realization. You had been driven near insanity some nights by his  unwitting nearness , too far away and too close all at once. His smell, his voice, the way his hands worked  expertly . His brilliant mind, his clever solutions, so simple sometimes they seemed almost lazy. His flat expression and  cocky ,  surly attitude. His relentless effort, working to exhaustion and worrying you on more than one occasion. His determination. 

The occasional  smirk when he thought you  weren’t looking, at one of your many attempts to get him to smile by cracking lame jokes as you worked, made your heart feel like a trapped hummingbird in your chest.

Oh yes, you had it bad. And unfortunately, or  perhaps fortunately for you, you had yet to decide, Dr. Gaster appeared to be completely oblivious.


	7. 6

It was a crisp evening, the kind that whispered the end of balmy summer nights and the beginning of chilled autumn days, when a warm kaleidoscope of fragrant leaves would tumble through the air and blanket the ground. When steaming mugs of spiced beverages wafted their cozy scents to the breeze, and the occasional frozen cirrostratus were the only obstructions to a view of a brilliant blue sky. Gaster loved autumn on the surface. For all his grievances against humankind in general he could not help but admire the spirit of the season, the celebration of the colors and warmth they held close to them in defiance of the cold creeping in, symbolic of the end of a cycle of growing things. 

He pulled smoothly into his parking place in front of New Lab and switched off the engine, grabbing the leather satchel containing his notebook, laptop, pens and various other items and locking the car as he made his way to the entrance. The sky was already dark, despite the fact that he was earlier than usual. 

At first it had been jarring, sharing a space with only the two of you, the silences stretching on for hours at times. Then it had become comfortable. Lately, however, Gaster had realized just how right Sans had been. You were brilliant, determined, and passionate about your work. You never shied away from expressing your thoughts on a bit of research regardless of who you might be speaking with and their position. You had a sharp tongue capable of getting you into trouble and worse, matching wits with him.

He’d caught himself on more than one occasion, barely refraining from chuckling at your repeated and rather obvious attempts to get him to laugh, or smile, or make any expression other than a scowl. Indeed, what was at one point an expression which came natural to him was now a conscious effort. Now he had a reputation to uphold. It had become one of your favorite games when you were alone in the lab together, alongside your refusal to allow him to one-up you anytime you quarreled over the project.

He found himself endeared to the way you would finally admit defeat by staring, blinking, then crossing your arms like a petulant child about to stamp their foot. You would always, however, be almost completely calm within another few minutes, anytime you could see more merit in his argument than your own. You were stubborn, but not to the point of forced ignorance of facts.

He had absolutely no idea why you continued to tolerate him. He was a cranky old monster, set in his ways. He was arrogant sometimes, downright unpleasant and grouchy at others and he knew it; yet you seemed nearly unfazed, going so far as to make an offhand remark on his mood on more than one occasion. 

Despite the rough beginning and strange working relationship, he found working with you to be an absolute joy. Your ideas, while not always the right fit-as he was all too fond of pointing out to you then arguing about with you afterward-were often elegant and well thought-out. He’d never been so glad to be proven wrong, for when he was, you would grin triumphantly, completely unabashed. 

He wondered when it was exactly he’d begun to look for it, that smile on your face. He wasn’t going to let you win, of course, no- that would take all enjoyment out of it for both of you. But he had begun to look forward to every time you would present him with an opposing viewpoint, relishing in the argument that ensued, hoping you had found something he hadn’t, so he could see that lovely expression, so openly smug, your eyes alight. 

He felt he could stand there all day and gladly allow himself to be stung by such a flame.

Almost before he realized, he’d begun looking forward to late nights in the lab; to your tired, softened voice while you complained about any ruts you’d fallen into with your work. He would find himself at home later preparing to sleep, recalling the way your hair fell into your face after a long day. He’d think of the way your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled excitedly in your notebook or typed away on the laptop, some new thoughts breaking free from your study session, or the way your cheek rested on your hand as you stared into space, chewing on your bottom lip in frustration. He’d remember that pretty blush painting its way up your neck when he so much as offered a bit of praise, and he would ache.

Oh, how he wanted to touch you.

He wanted to brush the tips of his phalanges against your cheeks as he teased and grazed against those lips, devoured those smug laughs, and claimed that sharp tongue with his own. He wanted to pull you to him during one of your bouts, grasp the back of your neck, and pull on the roots of your hair to bare your neck to him in submission as he nipped at you for your insolence. He wanted to pull you into his lap on the couch in that meeting room and feel you gasp, grinding against him and digging your nails into his ribs as he left your neck a bruised testament to the fire you’d set in his bones. He wanted nothing more than to show you his age merely meant he knew exactly what to do with that perfect body of yours.

Windings took in a slightly stilted breath as he reminded  himself he was in the workplace now, and he would have to shove those thoughts deep into a hidden crevice of his traitorous mind if he were to have a chance of making it through the day without looking like he’d completely lost the plot. He had already spent the previous night chastising himself for acting like the dirty old man he was, fantasizing about his young coworker in such a way. He’d gone so far as to give you his jacket some weeks ago, an action which left even himself aghast at its boldness. He’d rationalized it since you had been so unfailingly kind to him on an evening even he would not have tolerated himself. After all, it was starting to get cold outside, and you didn’t seem like you’d brought anything nearly thick enough to keep you warm...

Who did he think he had been fooling? He’d been curious to see what you might look like, wearing his clothing, and he relished the thought of you being covered in his scent. 

He swallowed and shoved such thoughts away again. He’d been nervous that morning, nearing your customary meeting place. Would you be wearing it? Despite his fierce attempts to shut down such thoughts, he had hoped so, even if it had the potential to ruin his concentration for the rest of the day. He was certain it would have been a small price to pay for such a sight. Alas, when he’d finally made his way to you, it was folded neatly on the table and you were turned, preparing the coffeemaker. He’d tucked it into his bag, grateful his disappointment wasn’t apparent on his face, as his mask was already firmly in place. 

What the hell had he been thinking? He’d berated himself the rest of the day. You, for your part, had seemed completely normal. He hadn’t detected the slightest hint of a disturbance, which he supposed was a good sign. Neither, however, had he detected a nervousness which would have implied any sort of attraction.

He stifled a sigh. You really shouldn’t have such an effect on him. He’d had to remind himself lately to keep his distance from you. You were still coworkers, at the end of the day, and he was also in a position of power in that same environment, a factor which wasn’t to be ignored. Especially when a small, hungry part of him whispered that It could be... _ used to his advantage. _

On the rare occasion he’d found someone remotely physically attractive in the workplace, not once had he felt himself act on impulse. He was always in perfect control, and the feeling passed. He’d begun to notice, however, his subconscious gravitation into your personal space, and marveled at feeling so comfortable in your presence, when he wasn’t busy feeling like he most definitely shouldn’t be. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made you truly uncomfortable, once, when he’d leaned over you. He hadn’t been thinking of you in an inappropriate manner in that moment, and had been entirely focused on pointing something out to you, when he’d found he would need to lean over and point directly to get the point across effectively. 

His chest had brushed your back because of the closeness, and he’d kept his voice soft so as not to make you think he was berating you for the mistake; he’d wanted you to know he meant to make a gentle correction, a nudge in the right direction as opposed to a harsh criticism, as it was certainly not warranted in this case. He had nearly frozen when he’d felt you shudder beneath him. He’d felt your breath catch and had withdrawn immediately, worried he’d overstepped, ironically, in a moment of single-minded focus on the project.

He had immediately apologized, stuttering slightly as he explained his intent and promised to be more mindful of your space. The expression on your face had been unreadable.

And now he would have to honor that promise.

Not that it would be so difficult, now, he thought as he rounded the corner and pushed open the door to the quiet room. He was certain despite the lack of facial clues he’d thoroughly unsettled you with that incident. You’d been quieter since then, and while you were still up for an argument with him, lately you had begun giving in a bit sooner than usual, cutting them short and agreeing with him more often. He reasoned if he perhaps gave you more space, allowed the air to settle between the two of you, things may go back to normal.

He didn’t dare discuss it with Sans, but his son had an uncanny way of picking things up where others didn’t, so he was certain he’d hear about it sooner or later. 


	8. 7

Things hadn’t gone back to normal, and he could feel his mood becoming downcast. It had been a few weeks already. Were you so repulsed by him? He sighed, shifting papers around, trying to focus on them and failing. You had been spending less time in the office in the mornings and going home earlier in the evenings as well. He missed your presence more than he would like to admit to himself. Behind his physical attraction was the fondness for you, and he had looked forward to those evenings spent mostly in companionable silence. Tonight he wondered if you would even show at all, considering you were usually seated across from him by now, sipping coffee and reading studiously. 

As if on cue, you came sweeping in, and he schooled his expression quickly from the look of disappointment he was sure had been on his face, staring at the empty couch across from his. You poured yourself a mug of black brew and he had to remind himself again not to stare lecherously at how your form fitting pencil skirt perfectly outlined your backside. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that those sorts of thoughts were probably the reason you were now avoiding spending as much time here. Why would you want to spend more time alone at work with your creepy old boss in the first place? Let alone one who had invaded your space on more than one occasion and had brushed against you from behind, practically whispering in your ear.

You made your way to your usual spot on the opposite couch and plopped down, unpacking your own supplies from your bag. Was it him, or was the air more tense than usual?

It was at this moment Sans barged in, looking far too cheerful, and Gaster was more on edge than before. 

_ What on earth could he be up to? He never shows up here more than is absolutely necessary. Worse, he seems to be in a good mood. Nothing good can come of this. _

Before Gaster could open his mouth to greet, then deflect Sans, hopefully drive him out the door and find out what he was planning, Sans grinned wider and turned to you.

“ i can’t believe you nerds are still holed up in here. you guys know you  _ can _ leave sometimes, right?”

You chuckled and said “I’m aware. But there’s so much to do. Aren’t you even a little nervous? We only have so much time to show we can deliver... Besides, it’s fine. I get plenty of sleep. What’s a few extra hours? I think more clearly at night, anyway... it’s quieter.”

Sans smiled amicably and Gaster narrowed his eyes.

“yeah, but if you aren’t careful, you’ll burn out, trust me. it’s not pretty. make sure you take a break now and then, it’ll do you a lot of good. helps if you come back in with a fresh perspective, you know?”

“Sans,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips “did you come in here to force me to take a break?”

Sans grinned “can't let you turn into him, can we?  i don’t think this place can  _ handle _ two of ‘im...” he jerked his thumb back at Gaster, who frowned at him 

You laughed then, and Gaster felt a small pang of jealousy. It had been some time since he’d managed to make you laugh like that.

Sans winked at him, noticing his deepening scowl and said “should come with us, old man. take a break yourself”

“Wait,” you said, still smiling, your eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement “...we’re going somewhere?”

“just Grillby’s. we'll get a drink, get some grub. go somewhere besides home or work for once...” He gave you a knowing look, then chuckled as you flushed, knowing full well you hadn’t been anywhere besides those two places in months, with the exception of dashing out to pick up takeout.

“Well,” you said, uncertainty in your tone as you looked at the supplies you’d unpacked, your eyes briefly flicking over to Gaster’s expression before hastily looking back down at them, “I probably  _ could _ use a break. And a drink.” you laughed softly 

Sans grinned and said “you get packed up and do what you  gotta do,  i’ll wait here and convince Resident Lich to go with us.”

You laughed again, and as much as he appreciated the sound Gaster tried not to be offended you’d found that so amusing.

You excused yourself to the restroom, claiming you wanted to freshen up just a bit and fix your hair quickly before going anywhere.

Gaster now openly scowled at Sans, crossing his arms, a brow bone raised and his eyes narrowed 

“Stealing my research partner for the night, I see.”

“yep.  i wasn’t kidding though...i’m stealing you, too. seriously, you both need to get out of here once in a while.” he said, looking around with what seemed an almost genuine distaste at the drab office surroundings. He was really pushing it, as if he were also trying to pull one over on Gaster.

“What are you planning, Sans?” Gaster sighed, dropping all pretense. He was altogether not in the mood for games this evening.

“now why do you always assume i'm up to something?” Sans asked with mock innocence, his eyelights sparking with mirth

Gaster stared at him flatly and Sans laughed

“look, you two seemed like you were getting along like two peas in the proverbial pod until a few weeks ago. now you’re both weird and cranky. the way you dance around each other like you’re afraid the other one’s gonna bite...  i mean, it's pretty fun to watch, but it’s getting a little old. besides, there’s no way you two can be working like you were before, acting like that” Sans grinned hitched upward slightly, and Gaster thought he sensed a double meaning in that sentence.

He decided to take the chance. After all, if he said nothing, Sans would get the truth one way or another, and Gaster was absolutely petrified of the idea he might ask you instead. 

“I’m...not sure we  were... ‘working’ ...to begin with.” he began quietly, looking askance and muttering just loud enough for Sans to hear, but in a  tone he knew Sans would understand as his way of admitting defeat and spilling the truth.

Sans quirked a brow bone, slightly surprised, then furrowed a bit in concentration, mulling over Gaster’s words. Then some understanding flashed across his face. His characteristic grin could now only be described as “wicked”. 

“wow. i underestimated you, old man. all these late nights, early mornings... in the office _ all alone _ .  i shoulda known.” he said mischievously, crooked grin spread across his face. He looked like a cat with a trapped mouse.

“That is  _ not _ what I meant” Gaster protested  hurriedly “I mean it. Not like that.  _ Nothing _ has happened.” 

“whoa, okay.  i believe you. didn't mean to uh...impugn your virtue” Sans threw up his hands, his grin still thoroughly amused, but having settled back into a much less obnoxious version.

After a moment of silence, Sans shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor, then glanced back up at Gaster.

“so just to clarify... you  _ haven’t _ bent the intern over a lab table, right?”

Gaster fumed, glaring dangerously at Sans even as he felt himself flush with magic. He fought down the sensation. He chastised himself internally for allowing Sans under his metaphorical skin, and said, waving his had dismissively “I would never have so little control, Sans”

Gaster was surprised, and slightly offended, when Sans actually looked mildly shocked at the statement.

“What?”

“oh nothing... ‘s just... i briefly considered you might have the hots for her, but it was just a theory and it seemed  _ real _ unlikely. so  i was just teasing you...  i mean,  i didn’t think you actually...” he trailed off, looking slightly shocked still, the amusement beginning to creep back into his features the longer he looked Gaster in the eyes. 

He hadn’t known before, not really. He knew now.

Gaster had just admitted to being helplessly attracted to you...and Sans hadn’t  _ really _ been suspecting that was the problem in the first place. It was going to be a long night. Gaster knew; he’d have to go with the two of you now whether he wanted to or not... to do damage control. There was no way Sans was going to leave that alone.

Gaster rested a bony palm over his eyes, mortified as Sans began to giggle in earnest and wheezed

“oh...my god.”

“Not. A word.” Gaster threatened.

Sans was still struggling to regain his composure when you returned looking, Gaster couldn’t stop himself from thinking, absolutely edible. 

You’d let your hair fall half down, tousled it slightly, loose curls framing your face. You’d applied a small amount of makeup, just enough to accentuate those deep, thoughtful eyes and soft looking lips.

Gaster had always hated poetry. He’d roll his eyes at men through the ages using what he thought were bizarre metaphors to describe their love interest. Things like comparing their lips to rose petals. Now, he thought with a tiny bit of embarrassment, he was beginning to understand what they meant.

He made the mistake of glancing at Sans again, whose knowing grin now stretched “ear to ear”.

Yes. It was going to be a very long night.


	9. 8

Grillby’s was packed. It  _ was _ a Friday night, after all. Gaster resisted the urge to leave immediately. A room full of bodies, all bumping into each other, sweating and mingling...it wasn’t exactly his “cup of tea” and that was putting it lightly. He was extremely relieved, therefore, when Sans led the party immediately to the far end of the bar, where remarkably several stools remained unoccupied. 

He enjoyed the place, but preferred it on a night when it hosted relatively few patrons. On those nights it was a quiet, intimate setting, a place to muse thoughtfully over a few drinks.

Almost as soon as Sans had finished (what else) his third bloody-mary, he slid from the stool, made a point of straightening his jacket, and held his hand out to you. You had just finished your own drink, and raised your eyebrows at him in surprise. He laughed playfully and wiggled his browbones at you comically. You laughed at the corny gesture, but claimed “I can’t dance, Sans. I’d make us both look like uncoordinated dorks”

“you’re assuming  i wouldn’t look like one all on my own.” he said smoothly, grabbing your hand and winking as he pulled you out of the stool and to your feet.

Gaster watched, amused, as a tipsy Sans and a slightly drunk you attempted a waltz to music which was obviously not meant to facilitate the dance. It didn’t help that Sans was not a dancer, stepping on your feet on more than one occasion. He was pleasantly surprised to find that despite your claim, you were not a stranger to it yourself, moving gracefully and taking Sans’ bumbling steps in stride. You were laughing heartily and loudly throughout the whole experience. He caught himself smiling, lulled by the pleasant burn of the whiskey in his glass and absolutely taken by your open smile and easy laughter as the both of you made a mockery of the otherwise stately dance. 

You returned to your seat afterward, flushed and giggling, and he wanted nothing more than to take your waist and pull you to him. He wanted your pretty blush, your breathless laughter, held to his chest. To feel your raised temperature and quickened pulse as he held your hand, to spin you on the floor himself...he wanted to show you how it’s done.

_ Young women don’t want a geezer grasping at them and pushing them around a dance floor for all their peers to see. She’s in her prime. You are far past such things. _

Gaster turned his gaze to the golden liquid swirling in his tumbler, the sunny light of the nearby candles glancing off the glass softly, sparkling in its shallow depths. Not unlike your eyes, he thought, when you were particularly engaged...so full of fire.

_ Get a grip. Since when were you a romantic? _

_ “ _ Um....Doctor? Doctor Gaster?”

He looked up, surprised, to find your wide, but half-lidded and somewhat drunken gaze inquisitive, your brow a bit furrowed. 

“Yes?”

“You seem...sorry...” you muttered the word, looking down at the now half consumed whiskey in your own glass, before looking away, as if gathering your thoughts, and turning back to him “you seem like you’re not having the best time. I just.... well, I wanted you to know, I know how it feels to be out of place when you get dragged out against your will...” your lips turned up in a small smile, “and if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay just to be polite...”

_ You lovely, thoughtful thing, I want to taste the whiskey on your lips until you gasp for breath.  _

Sans chose this moment to rejoin you after his continued antics on the dance floor in your absence. 

“oh, he’s fine. you know how old men like to sit around and enjoy the view, and the parks close at sundown.” 

You looked appropriately scandalized by the dig, flustered and obviously fumbling for a response. 

Gaster appreciated that you at least seemed ready to defend him, as he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and said without missing a beat “Yes, and so far the sight of you fumbling your way around the dance floor is all the pleasure this view has afforded. Clearly, there are a few things you failed to inherit.”

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, biting back another giggle as Sans made a great show of pretending to be offended.

“like a talent for looking like a brooding loner, sitting with only his angst for company in the corner of a bar as he glares into the bottom of an empty glass of booze...”

“Talent, nothing. That, my boy, is a carefully cultivated  _ art.  _ Only years of diligent practice will lead to its mastery. _ ”  _ He smirked back over the rim of his glass, thoroughly enjoying the banter.

He felt a swell of pride as he heard you giggle in earnest, obviously entertained. He’d been starting to miss that sound.

Still laughing, you’d taken your glass off the bar and finished it off, savoring the taste as you set it back down on the counter. Then, your eyes belying your inebriated state, you met his own and  said flirtatiously “Perhaps, then,  _ Doctor  _ Gaster, you can apply some of that  _ mastery _ and show me a thing or two on the dance floor?”

Gaster froze. He was sure if he’d had a heart, he’d be in cardiac arrest. 

_ Stars, woman. You can’t just go around teasing old men like that. _

The alcohol had obviously worked its own magic in making you bold, but not invincible, for you suddenly seemed to realize the brazen nature of your statement, uncertainty beginning to creep its way into your expression. 

_ Say something, you old fool! _

“I’d... consider it an honor.”

You beamed, relieved, and then excused yourself to the ladies’ room, threatening that he’d better be ready to make an example of himself when you returned.

Sans was now swirling his own drink in his glass, his face as he gazed into the liquid uncharacteristically...content? Gaster was unsure he’d ever seen him make such an expression, when Sans spoke suddenly

“you’ve gone soft,  _ old man _ .”

Alright. That was it, Gaster decided. If he was about to give a gorgeous young woman the time of her life, even if just for a few minutes, he sure as hell was going to have to stop thinking of himself as aged and infirm.

“Oh, Sans. There’s nothing  _ soft _ about what I’m going to show her.”

Sans choked, spit out his  drink, and Gaster chuckled, finishing his own in one gulp.

“don’t ever say anything like that to me again.  i do not need that picture in my head.” he said, looking shocked and wiping the liquid from the counter as  Grillby eyed him, clearly affronted at the sudden waste of his work.

“Oh, you can make allusions to my, what was the phrase again? ‘ _ Bending her over the lab table’ _ but you can’t handle it when I say it?” Gaster said with mirth

“that was different.  _ i _ __ was joking.  i didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Yes, well. Neither did I.” He said, giving a small smile as he slid his glass across the counter to  Grillby , indicating he was ready to pay off the evening’s tab.

Sans sighed heavily, then eyed him and gave a tired chuckle. 

“for what it’s worth,  i'm rooting for you. just...uh... i don’t ever want details.” and he looked amused again, his previous shock having faded somewhat.

Gaster gave a small, amiable laugh of  agreement .

“ i wonder why all our reconciliations only happen in a bar.” Sans said thoughtfully after a moment

Gaster wasn’t sure what had prompted that, but nodded silently, musing as he stared blankly ahead at the  colorful rows of bottles lining the polished wooden shelves behind the bar.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is stuck on me like glue, and I won’t be able to rest until it’s  
> out there. With that said, I hope you like slow burn. This thing is a behemoth and will probably be the  
> longest thing I’ve ever written. As a matter of fact, I’ve already written the ending, so I have no choice  
> now but to let the story take whatever its natural path is between. Oh, and there will be many explicit  
> sexual scenes in this, but the chapters containing them will be clearly labeled, for anyone that feels like  
> skipping such content. There will, however, be *ahem* allusions to sexual content throughout. It is not finished yet, and unfortunately I have found no way to remove the completed date. To anyone who searched specifically for completed works, I do apologize. Thanks for reading!


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